


the words you’ll speak

by twilighteve



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), PKNA - Paperinik New Adventures
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, basically au where you see the last words of a person who will say those words to you on their body, but i imply their death VERY heavily, i'm not saying they don't die but i'm not saying they do either, last word au, technically it counts as their deaths tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilighteve/pseuds/twilighteve
Summary: Donald was five when he first noticed the sky-blue blurred scribbles along the length of Della’s collarbone. It looked like someone had scrawled a pen over her feathers and let the words smudge before the ink could set. He pretended not to notice when Della paused a touch too long to stare at his collarbone.It was, coincidentally – or maybe not – the time when he first learned of Last Words, and how it etched itself along someone’s body in their handwriting, only visible to the ones they would be spoken to, moments before the person died.(AU where you see the last words of a person who'll die saying those words to you, and Donald and Della sees each others' Words.)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 105





	the words you’ll speak

Donald barged out of the control room with barely restrained anger, but he somehow managed to soften his touch around the eggs Della left behind.

Uncle Scrooge ran after him and caught his arm. “Lad, please. I  _ will _ bring her back, just – “

“You said you’ll bring  _ her body _ back,” Donald said coldly.

“She has been up there for weeks,” Uncle Scrooge said. “No one can survive that.”

“Gyro packed the Spear with OxyChew.”

“It’s experimental and no one knows for sure it will actually give you the necessary nutrients.” Uncle Scrooge let go of his arm, slowly, letting his touch linger as if he was scared letting go too fast would make Donald disappear. “Face the facts, Donald, she’s – “ he stopped and swallowed thickly, then his gaze hardened. “But I  _ will _ bring her back. I promise.”

Donald stared at him. “Did she tell you the Words?”

Uncle Scrooge cringed. “Lad – “

“Did she say the Words?” Donald asked again relentlessly.

“…no.”

“Then she’s still alive,” Donald said. “And if you’re not going to bring my sister back home, then fine. She’s resourceful. She’ll find her way back home.”

“Words don’t always appear,” Uncle Scrooge argued.

“Her last conversation was with you, on video. If she’s dead, her Last Words would be to you and it would be somewhere you can see them.” He stared Uncle Scrooge down in challenge. When he didn’t answer, Donald sniffed and turned around. “I have children to raise. Goodbye, Uncle Scrooge.”

“Donald – “ Uncle Scrooge heaved a frustrated breath. “I know it’s hard to accept, but she’s gone!”

“She’s not!” Donald snapped.

“How do you – “

“Because I know her Last Words and she hasn’t said them to me!” Donald cut in, almost a snarl. When it finally forced Uncle Scrooge to fall silent, he huffed tiredly and walked away.

* * *

The triplets hatched and Uncle Scrooge declared Della Duck dead.

Donald swallowed his anger and grief and vowed to give the triplets the best life he could give them, convinced that Della was still alive, would still find her way back home by some miracle or her stubborn drive.

He wondered if her Words was still etched on her collarbone, visible only to him, or if it had changed, if her fate had changed when the Spear of Selene disappeared into the thick of the cosmic storm. He decided not to dwell on it and went back to diapers and baby formulas.

* * *

Donald was five when he first noticed the sky-blue blurred scribbles along the length of Della’s collarbone. It looked like someone had scrawled a pen over her feathers and let the words smudge before the ink could set. He pretended not to notice when Della paused a touch too long to stare at his collarbone.

It was, coincidentally – or maybe not – the time when he first learned of Last Words, and how it etched itself along someone’s body in their handwriting, only visible to the ones they would be spoken to, moments before the person died.

Donald reached over to take Della’s hand. She gripped back, and a part of him wondered if his Last Words would be for her.

The words grew clearer with the passing years until they became crystal clear when they hit their twenties. The writing was undeniably Della’s, just like her scribbles when she did her calculations for her flight projects. It was as clearly blue as the sunniest summer day, and Donald had grown familiar to each dip, each strike and dot the Words showed.

He never asked Della, but he wondered if she was as familiar to his Words as he was with hers.

* * *

Scrooge never saw Words.

A part of him was relieved, knowing he would never see someone die before him, or hear them say something before their death. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it; knowing someone would die but not being able to stop it. It was never spoken, but everyone knew that Words were unchanged, and once spoken the speaker’s fate was sealed. Perhaps it was sealed the moment the Words appeared along their bodies.

A part of him was envious. He wondered if never seeing Words meant he would die alone.

He ignored it and told himself it only meant that he was made for greatness, unburdened by anyone’s death but his own, and set out to seek riches for himself.

* * *

When he found himself becoming Paperinik, the world he lived in expanded and shrunk at the same time. He no longer went adventuring with Uncle Scrooge and Della as much, but he got to go to space, he got to meet time traveler androids, he got to protect the entirety of Duckburg and even Earth.

He found a fast friend in Uno set out to protect Duckburg from above, with Uno as his constant companion and most trusted partner. Together, they hit back on the Evronians and made sure they never lay a hand on any Earthling.

Donald, for his part, realized at last that Della’s Words weren’t the only ones he could see.

When he went to the future, met Geena, and saw the seemingly neatly typed words that ran along her brow to her cheek, he thought it was some sort of tattoo to let people know of her being an android, though the phrasing seemed to be an odd one if that was true. It was pink and suited her well, even though the placement made Donald wonder why it was put there at all.

It took holding her at her last moments for him to realize it wasn’t a tattoo, but her Last Words.

_ I am not an obedient machine _ . His eyes darted to the Words just as Geena’s beak spoke them, and it made his stomach roll, how the technicians were ready to bring her back despite it all. Somehow, he managed to convince them not to and wondered if it was enough.

* * *

Bentina Beakley was a retired agent, and she was notoriously efficient in her prime.

Of course she had killed. Of course she had seen many, many Words, and saw them match the sentences spat out by bloody beaks and hissed out through gritted teeth. She never liked it when a life was lost right in front of her eyes, but it came with the job. Sometimes, no matter how perfectly you do your job, things would still go wrong.

And then Webbigail fell to her laps, and she decided to retire and become her primary caretaker.

It was a shock, to turn from a life of being a spy to becoming Scrooge’s McDuck’s housekeeper – adventurous as he was, housekeeping was housekeeping, and there was only so much excitement to be found in her new line of work. But Webby was the light of her life and raising and training her became a routine that she genuinely enjoyed.

The day Webby took to adventuring with Scrooge, Bentina noticed Words written over Webby’s inner forearm in pastel pink.

_ I love you, Granny _ .

Part of her wanted to snatch Webby away and kept her bundled and safe forever, but she knew it was impossible. Webby wasn’t made for safekeeping, all wrapped safe and sound never to see the light of the sun. She was meant to run out to the sunny sky, cracking riddles and meeting challenges head on and shining brighter than the morning star.

No amount of safety would be a worthy trade off of the way she bloomed and smiled and light up Bentina’s whole world.

She swallowed the knowledge that her most precious treasure would die in her hold and promised she would cherish every passing moment they had together.

* * *

Della crashed on the moon, spiraled for all of ten minutes, then remembered that she hadn’t heard Donald spoke his Words to her, and understood that it either meant she would find a way to get back to earth or he would somehow end up here on the moon and perish with her.

She refused to die in the barren moon with her brother of all people, and she had children to come back to. Somehow, it was enough to give her the strength to amputate her own leg and started the grueling work of reassembling a rocket ship out of scrap metal.

She found solace in the ruins of the Spear, and then she found home among the Moonlanders when Lunaris brought her into the city and had her room with Penumbra. Somehow, the conversation they engaged in fell right into Last Words territory, and to Della’s discomfort, she found that Lunaris was oddly fascinated by the idea of it.

“It’s not that amazing, really,” Della said. “If anything, it’s kind of… scary, I think. And sad.”

“It  _ is _ fascinating, however,” Lunaris argued. “It is fate itself giving you a clue of how someone would die.”

“Uh, sure?” Della stared at him. “You sound really interested in this. Don’t you have anything similar?”

“No,” Penny answered. “We don’t have anything like that.”

“Oh.” Della’s fingers brushed against her collarbone, where she knew Donald’s Words were etched in blurry rendition of his handwriting, as if his destiny was not yet in stone. “That’s kind of nice. You don’t have to worry about people dying or anything.”

Penny tilted her head at her. “You would rather not know if someone you care about would die near to you? Doesn’t that mean you may provide comfort for them in their final moments?”

Della paused for a moment. “I mean, yeah. But I don’t really want anything like that.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can see the Words of someone very close to me. I never knew how to feel about it. I still don’t. But I know I don’t like the fact that I can see them.”

Lunaris stared at her, as if waiting for her to say more.

She sighed. “There are things that you’re better off not knowing.”

* * *

There were Words scrawled over the back of Louie’s neck, just above where his hoodie sat.

_ Hey, guys, what’s that? _

Both Huey and Dewey could see the letters in emerald green.

Ever since they started adventuring with Uncle Scrooge, the Words grew clearer and clearer. It became crystal clear and set in stone the moment Louie finally found his confidence and became an adventurer of his own. Neither Huey nor Dewey needed more than a few shared glances to know what it meant; Louie would most likely die during an adventure.

So they did what they could. If Huey could research and know everything about the places they went to, the traps they might trigger, the treasure they went after, maybe, just maybe, they could make sure Louie would be fine. If Dewey made sure he was always ahead of Louie, that meant he wouldn’t be able to see the Words when Louie uttered them, and that meant Louie wouldn’t die the way the Words would suggest him die.

They probably wouldn’t be able to stop death from claiming their brother, but maybe, just maybe, if they tried hard enough, if they kept up their effort of keeping Louie safe, he would never have to deal with whatever it was that ended up being his demise.

It wasn’t enough, but it didn’t stop them from trying.

* * *

Launchpad was oddly open about the Words he saw.

That was what Gosalyn noticed about him, when they grew closer. The topic that most considered a taboo wasn’t something he found discomfort in talking about, but it could also be because of the many, many Words he’d seen in his lifetime. Maybe he’d just found a way to cope well with it.

That was pretty nice. Gosalyn hoped she could find one, too. Seeing the words etched over Grandpa’s arm and him disappearing into another dimension wasn’t something she could handle well. A part of her wondered if him catapulting off this dimension meant he was well and truly dead or if the powers that be decided getting booted off one’s dimension was the equivalent of death and if he could, somehow, return.

She kept up hope because it felt much better than the overwhelming grief at the idea of him dying for real.

It didn’t surprise her much that dread filled her to the brim when she realized she could see the blurred telltale of almost-Words scrawled over Drake’s hand when he took her in.

She couldn’t hide the shaking of her hand when she asked him, “I know I’m a lot more reckless than you, but… don’t you think this is kind of dangerous?”

Launchpad, who was there, peered at her. “Dangerous?”

“I mean, the whole vigilante thing, especially since you don’t have more people you can ask for help from.” Gosalyn wrung her fingers together. “I mean…”

Drake smiled softly at her. “Aw, Gos,” he said, tone fond but teasing. “Are you worried about me?”

Gosalyn snorted. “Look at you, mocking me like this. I bared my heart for you and you’re mocking me.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Drake said, but there was no hint of apology in his voice. “You don’t have to worry, Gos. I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll always be there for you.”

Gosalyn ignored Launchpad’s loud  _ aww _ as she glanced at the scribbles on Drake’s hand. It seemed to have gotten clearer, somehow. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’ll keep it, one way or another,” Drake said confidently. “I’ll always be here at the end of the day. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

The Words cleared up almost immediately, Drake’s sharp scratches clearly visible over his feathers in royal purple. Gosalyn stared at them.  _ Looks like I can’t fulfill that promise after all _ .

Gosalyn had learned that once Words had grown clear, it would be hard for someone to change one’s fate. Drake would die uttering about failure to keep a promise, and there would be nothing she could do to avoid it. But it didn’t mean she was content with it all, and so she vowed she would be the one making sure everything was all right.

She took a deep breath. “I’ll hold you to it,” she said instead, and pretended the Words weren’t there for her to see.

* * *

From the moment Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera set foot on his lab, Gyro knew he would be a nuisance.

From the moment Fenton loosened his tie and let Gyro see a sliver of his chest, Gyro knew he would be protective of his intern.

There were Words scribbled over on his chest. Gyro couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but he had caught a glimpse of the intern’s chicken scratch spelling out a sentence with a  _ sorry _ in it, in deep scarlet that he almost mistake for blood. Gyro had no idea how to confirm what Fenton would be apologizing for, but he knew lab work was dangerous, and there was always a chance of lab accident or his creation turning evil. With feverish speed, he upgraded the safety of his inventions and made sure no one would be harmed if they ever malfunction.

And then Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera became Gizmoduck, and suddenly Gyro understood that this, of all thing, would be the creation that would put an end to Fenton.

His heart nearly stopped every time Fenton’s safety was put in line, which was basically every time he went out as Gizmoduck. He poured his day and night to design the best safety measures he could think of, but in the end, Fenton’s own brain was the best processor and risk calculator there was, wonky as his risk calculations were.

He shut himself in his lab and worked until he felt like his bones would fall out. Each day he woke up and found that Fenton was still alive, he breathed out a sigh of relief that weighed down in his chest and worked another day to keep him alive.

* * *

Donald couldn’t look at Uno in the eyes. It felt cowardly, and it felt like a betrayal, but he spoke without looking at his friend as if slinking his gaze away would make his decision any lighter than it was.

“I’m not doing this anymore.”

Uno’s response was a slight movement – probably a turn of his head as he gazed in question. The way the green light moved and reflected on the shiny tiles under his feet made Donald want to curl up and hide, but there was no hiding from Uno in the Ducklair Tower.

“Doing what?” Uno asked.

Donald took a deep breath. “Being Paperinik,” he said.

Uno was quiet for a moment, and Donald’s stomach curdled further. “May I ask why?” Uno asked at last.

Donald breathed out. “I have kids to look after,” he said. “Aside from having to monitor them basically all the time and needing to find jobs to keep us afloat, it’s just… being Paperinik is dangerous. We both know that. They already have to grow up without their mother, I can’t…” He looked away and bit his cheek. “I want to be there for them,” he concluded.

“Of course,” Uno said, voice softer than Donald thought was possible. “They’re important to you.”

Donald clenched and unclenched his fists. “What will happen, after I stop?”

“I’m not sure,” Uno mused. “But the Evronians have been defeated. They pose no threat anymore. If there is nothing more for me to do, I might end up being deactivated.”

Donald stared, tongue-tied. He must have looked worse than he thought, because Uno switched gears to comforting at once.

“It’s alright. At the end of the day, I’m only an A.I,” he said. “I enjoyed being your partner all the same. It has been a good time.”

“Yeah.” Donald took a deep breath and smiled. “Yeah. It really has been.”

“One more chess game, old cape? For old time’s sake?”

One more game turned into two, and then three, and then more. Donald wanted to keep playing forever, even if he kept losing, and stretched the moment until he wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. But all good things came to an end, and in the end he and Uno agreed to stop and exchanged goodbyes, teary on Donald’s end, for the last time. It was a goodbye to an old life he would leave behind for a new one, just as uncertain and grueling in a different way altogether.

“I’m glad, though, that you’re stopping,” Uno said suddenly, and Donald looked at him, confused. Uno smiled at him and spoke again, “I’m sorry I never told you, but I’m under the impression that this is a delicate thing for many people. Being Paperinik would be very dangerous to you, if you continue. Now that you’ve decided to stop, I can’t see your Last Words anymore.”

“Uno – “

“I hope it would mean you’ll die of old age.”

Donald snorted. “With my luck, I’ll probably die after tripping over my own feet, rolling down the stairs, and breaking my own neck.”

Uno’s laughter was clear and quiet and bittersweet. “Goodbye, my friend.”

Donald smiled. “Goodbye, partner.”

* * *

José and Panchito’s Last Words were to each other, written on their cheeks like mirrors in their handwritings. The messages were tender in a way that they knew would never leave the comfort of private company, and they breathed a sigh of relief knowing that they at least would die in the quiet of each other’s presence.

They weren’t sure how they would feel if they died in the midst of battle. Perhaps the most painful was how they kept seeing a blur of sea blue would-be Words on Donald’s collarbone, one that kept appearing and disappearing, as if his fate was still unknown.

They sealed Felldrake once again, and the blurred Words on Donald disappeared for good.

They pretended their relief away as victory rush, pulled Donald into an embrace, and dragged him over to celebrate and feast. They stuffed themselves and Donald full of delicacies and held Donald’s hands tight and reveled in the comfort of him being  _ here _ .

They never said how painfully relieving it was to realize their dear friend had just dodged death.

* * *

Della found her way back home and reconnected with a family she lost the chance to connect with for a decade, ran away from the Moonlanders’ invasion, and found Donald on a deserted island, all alone. Louie convinced her to go back and fight and they went back to Duckburg riding, of all things, a giant krill.

She didn’t miss the way Donald’s eyes kept straying to her collarbone. She didn’t miss the way hers kept drifting to his, either, and how the Words that had been blurry when she last saw him was clearly sea blue, in his clearest handwriting, not a smudge to be seen.

They found Uncle Scrooge in Lunaris’ hold, and Della felt her blood boil. His speech about the supposed superiority of  _ Planet Moon _ did nothing to her temper, and she was all but petrified by rage when he spoke of Words.

“Even Fate defers to you to tell you the last words of the people around you,” Lunaris spat.

Della managed to nick his temple with a kick from her prosthetic leg. She would have been able to kick his head fully if he didn’t dodge at the last second. She snarled. “I already told you there are things you’re better off not knowing.” She stood tall. “Knowing people’s Last Words isn’t as great as you make it out to be.”

Lunaris scoffed. “Have you finished flaunting the Earth’s supposed superiority to me?”

Della stomped in frustration. “I  _ dread _ every day knowing I would see my brother die before my eyes!”

It didn’t reach Lunaris. Of course it didn’t.

They managed to kick Lunaris back into the orbit and went back home. Donald took her hand in his and squeezed and didn’t let go until they both went to sleep.

* * *

Goldie ran ahead of Scrooge.

She always did. She had to stay ahead, and teasing, and laughing, and  _ alright _ . Keeping him frustrated was part of the game, the dance they had long since practiced until they could hit each step with their eyes closed.

If she stayed ahead, she could outrun him, and she would never have to see the maroon Words running along the length of his chin, and maybe she could help him outrun death that way.

* * *

Louie never saw Words before. Not on anyone.

Maybe not yet. Hopefully never.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of how Huey and Dewey would glance at him at times, at his neck. He could feel their gazes burning at the back of his head when he walked ahead of them. He decided he didn’t like it and opted to hang back, trailing behind them and feigning indifference at the world.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of how Webby would steal looks at him and Huey and Dewey and stared off to the middle distance.

He ignored how Huey and Dewey busied themselves with what they could do and went to Webby. He sat by her side and took a deep breath and gathered his wits. In the end, what he ended up blurting was, “Do you see my Words?”

Webby twitched. She nodded mutely.

“Do you see Huey’s and Dewey’s, too?”

Webby sighed. “Yeah.”

Louie looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said at length, hating the fact that he didn’t know what else to say.

Webby smiled, brittle. “It’s okay. I mean, Last Words are some sort of warning, right? At least, this way, I won’t be so shocked when you guys are… gone.”

Louie leaned into her side. “It’s not fair,” he whispered.

Webby barked a bitter laugh. “We get to see the Last Words of people we see die. There’s nothing about this that’s fair.”

* * *

They lay together on the cold, hard, stone floor, the poison gas leeching the life away from their lungs as they struggled to breathe. In the confines of the dark and the suffocating realization that they might never see the rest of their family again, they reached out and held each other’s hands in a futile attempt to find comfort.

Della giggled, tired and broken and defeated. “You know, we sure are lucky, huh? I would have thought that this would happen sooner.”

“With me more than you, yeah,” Donald agreed with a smile.

“No way. I got stuck on the moon.”

Donald paused. “Okay, don’t be mad.”

Della scowled. “There’s no way I won’t be mad if you start it like that.”

“I was Paperinik.”

“What.”

“So, you know. I get  _ a lot _ more near-death experiences than you.”

“ _ What. _ ”

“And also, José, Panchito, and I got close because we were fighting a super powerful sorcerer with the goddess of adventure, so that’s that.”

“ _ What?! _ ”

“So yeah, I got pretty rotten luck, but all things considered I probably should have died years ago.” Donald shrugged, as well as he could with them lying on their sides.

“I want to smack you right now. How did you keep all this quiet?” Della squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt.

“It’s not that hard. You and Uncle Scrooge got real busy with adventuring, and this is kind of my thing.”

Della deflated at that. “And look where it’s landed us in.”

_ In an old temple where we’ll die from poison gas _ , Donald’s mind supplied. “Yeah,” he said instead of voicing his thought. He didn’t have to say anything to Della to know her strength was leeching away just as his was. The increasingly dazed look in her eyes told him as much, and he knew he had the same look in his eyes.

Della coughed. “It’s funny. I always thought I’d go down in a blaze of glory.”

“Same. I really prefer dying in my sleep, in my old age,” Donald mused.

“Hmm. Can’t really have that, now.” Della’s gaze strayed over Donald’s collarbone, and she sighed. “At least we managed to keep the kids out.”

Donald nodded. “We did good on that.”

Silence descended, and it felt as suffocating as the gas slowly choking the life out of them. Della curled into herself and let out a sob that Donald quickly mirrored, and they broke down together, mourning on lives taken too soon – there were so many things they still wanted to do, but they always knew their life would end before they were ready to go.

The Ducks were never meant for a long life spent quietly. They were meant to be fireworks, lit once to shine the night with brilliant lights and fizzle to the ground, spent. It didn’t matter how breathtaking their light had been, in the end the show would end all too quickly and there would never be another one quite the same.

Della sniffled. “Hey, Don?”

“Yeah, Dell?”

She stared him right in the eyes. When she spoke, her words perfectly matched the ones scribbled over her collarbone in her sky blue script. “If I die here and you don’t, will you spread my ashes over Killmotor Hill?”

Donald forced a smile. When he spoke, Della’s gaze darted to his collarbone, and he knew he had spoken his Words. “Only if you spread mine over Duckburg Bay.”

They both knew they were putting pretenses. But if pretenses could lend even a little bit more comfort, they were willing to put up with it. Della closed her eyes, coughed, and breathed. Donald followed her example and closed his eyes.

Sleep welcomed him like an old friend.

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays! HAVE SOME ANGST.
> 
> come yell at me at my tumblr. [trash-raccoon](https://trash-raccoon.tumblr.com/) for my main blog and [twilighteve-writes](https://twilighteve-writes.tumblr.com/) for my writing blog.


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